


conversūrūm

by howls_silvis



Category: Bacchae - Euripides, The Bacchae
Genre: AU, anyway dionysus is trans in this, because im in a mood and i do what i want, can myths have an au? ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29325072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howls_silvis/pseuds/howls_silvis
Summary: A take on Dionysus' childhood. (title: future active participle of "convertere," meaning "changing")
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	conversūrūm

**Author's Note:**

> This is not at all a faithful depiction of Dionysus or his origins!! Dionysus is most often described as being born a full-fledged god, or being made a full-fledged god by the nymphs that raise him. In this, I have Dionysus being born a demi-god, nursed by nymphs, and achieving total godhood later. This isn’t accurate, this is me being a meathead. I've got a lot of unnecessary feelings about this so I might add another chapter or lengthen this one.

He had spent his infancy in the arms of people who had leaves and snakes in their hair. His little meaty hands would reach out for the smiling faces, plucking at the petals that slipped from their locks to their shoulders. They called him Zeus’ Baby. He assumed Zeus was his father, then. He didn’t have one mother, he didn’t think. He had dozens. They held him upright, walked him slowly, and taught him to babble. They tucked him in at night under the furs of lions and skins of fauns. Isn’t this what mothers do? His mothers had sharp ears and curling tails, others had hooves, or scales, speckled with dirt and adorned with lazy smiles. They were the people who lay naked in the forest. Their bodies all looked different. He loved them all. 

He loved them even when they handed him over. He had woken that morning to the calls of peacocks. Intrigued by the shrill cries and bolstered by childhood fearlessness, he balanced his little body upon his two feet and went running. A tall woman stood in the clearing, the peacocks perched around her. They nodded their slim heads as if agreeing with what she said. He didn’t care enough to listen. The shuddering of effervescent feathers transfixed him. He stared deeply into their many eyes, waiting for one to blink. The woman in the clearing started shouting louder. He could hear the strained voice of one of his mothers pleading. The clinking of jewelry drew his attention to her finally. She stood with her head tipped upwards, always glaring down at her subjects. Her dress clung to her shoulders and hips, the color shifting from blues to greens, and finally spreading out upon the ground, much like the tails of her birds. Gold encircled her wrists, biceps, neck, and brow. The bands on her wrists clicked together as she gesticulated. Looking at her accessories, he caught her gesture: she pointed at him. He heard her words that time.

“Take  _ it  _ to Thebes. You are all relieved of your duties.” 

One of his mothers picked him up. He wanted to go back down; he wanted to play with the peacocks. The tall woman turned and strut away, the peacocks dutifully following behind. He reached out to them; he didn’t want them to go away. Their fanned tails closed together and swept away their footprints. He cried. He heard his mothers crying too, but he wasn’t sure why. Surely they could just put him down and chase the peacocks. Isn’t that what they were crying about? 

They carried him to somewhere he had never been before. It was beyond the forest. Stones were shaped into pillars and squares, sticks were bound together and carved. He saw marble, baskets, cloth, and people, people, people. They didn’t have fur and fangs like his mothers did. They looked more like him, but they covered themselves with different clothes and colors on their bodies and faces. He wondered why. His mothers were naked, why weren’t these people too? And why did they stare? The mother who carried him stopped and finally set him down. His bare feet connected with the smooth tiles that covered the earth. 

“Welcome to Thebes, Zeus’ Baby,” one of his mothers said. Then they turned away, leaving him behind. 

Rumors in Thebes clung to him as faithfully as ivy on bricks. He wasn’t Zeus’ Baby to them. He was Semele’s Daughter. Semele’s Daughter was starving and cursed. He fed off pity. He had no love for the people who had none for him. He learned, though. He learned that his mothers were nymphs. He learned Zeus was not only a god, but the king of them all. He learned that people were foolish and cruel: they said that  _ this  _ mother, his  _ one  _ mother, Semele, was a liar, because they would not believe Semele was beloved by a god. The nymphs would not lie, though, and if the nymphs said it was true, it must be. 

He learned he loved theater. He was good at it too. His talent was the consequence of being born to play a role that wasn’t his own. He’d charm his way to his meals. He’d be a fool for the rich and generous, hoping they’d toss a coin in his direction. His performances were crude and cute. He’d hear his passing patrons say  _ isn’t she talented _ ?  _ Isn’t she funny _ ?  _ Isn’t she _ , isn’t  _ she _ ,  _ she _ . 

He told himself that, someday, they wouldn’t say  _ she _ . They’d look and see  _ him _ , not his mask.

An idea wormed around in his mind. Once spawned, it took root in his heart. He could not have ripped it away if he tried. Instead, he let it grow quietly, tangling itself around his bones, hidden from the eyes of all.

He didn’t want to pray to a god for aid. He decided that, in order to show them--all of them, humans and nymphs and gods alike--the truth, he had to be a god too. Godhood would be his salvation. He thought that, if only he could be a god like his father, he would cease to be anybody’s fool. After all, the gods shift their shapes like well-worn clothes. 

He told himself that, if he could wave his hand and change his shape, he’d feel better. If he could whisk away his breasts and broaden his shoulders, deepen his voice and strengthen his limbs, then everything else would be okay. He’d  _ make  _ them see him. He would shed the undivine skin he wore and be gilded by honesty.

He wondered: underneath everything, then, who  _ was  _ he? If his outsides were stripped away, who would be left? There were wild ideas that blossomed within him, tumbling their ways through the dark, but that was all. He wondered: what, if anything, is beyond the mask? The nymphs called him Zeus’ Baby, but Zeus never claimed him. The Thebans called him Semele’s Daughter, but he was no one’s daughter, he knew. 

Not Zeus’ Baby, not Semele’s Daughter. 

Dionysus, only.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Closing notes, I avoided gendering the nymphs. They’re referred to as “mothers,” but that’s because Dionysus perceived them in that way. Also, it was Hera who sent him to Thebes. She caught wind of how Dionysus was being raised by nymphs and decided to put a stop to it.


End file.
